All the Cold Stars Above
by Snarkydame
Summary: The team salvages an Ancient ship, but there are pressing problems to consider. Written for the Team SGA AU Fest, 2009. Travelers AU.


**Title: **All the Cold Stars Above  
**Author**: snarkydame  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Disclaimer: **I do not claim any ownership of this universe or its characters.  
**Summary: **The team salvages an Ancient ship, but there are pressing problems to consider. Written for the Team SGA AU Fest, 2009.

* * * * *  
The only light shining on the auxiliary bridge came from the cold distant sparks of stars. Ronon blinked at them. There was something sticky running slowly over his left eye -- it unfocused the faint light, made it blur together into a pale approximation of the vivid swirl of hyperspace that should have been splayed across the view screen.

Stars. He processed that thought with a sluggishness that he felt would probably alarm him, if he could find the energy. There were stars shining on the bridge.

There were _stars_.

Ronon lurched upright, nearly cracking his aching head on the console. _Again_, the stray thought went. He looked blearily around the darkened bridge -- it seemed intact, if in disarray. Like everything had jolted a few inches to the side.

It was eerily quiet. There was no thrumming vibration from the engines running through the deck. No radio, squawking with McKay's indignant responses to Sheppard's constant interruptions.

His own faintly labored breathing was the only thing he heard.

Clumsy, dizzy, he managed to find his radio. On the second try, he got his voice to work. "Sheppard?" he called. "McKay? Teyla? Everyone all right?"

When not even static answered, he lurched out of the bridge, looking for his team.

* * * * *

The corridors of the old ship were clear of debris. The abandoned ship had been in nearly pristine condition when they'd found her, adrift between stars.

If the ship had dropped out of hyperspace, then something was wrong. And if his friends weren't answering his radio hails . . .

If his friends weren't answering their radios, it was apparently because his own was broken. He stopped, watching a slim figure run down the corridor towards him.

"I have found him," she was saying. "John, he's bleeding."

"Teyla," Ronon said, relief making his knees weak. Relief and a concussion, probably. He leaned back against the bulkhead.

She reached him then, gently taking hold of his chin and turning his head so she could see the wound.

"I hit my head," he explained, and she smiled briefly.

"Yes, so I can see. It does not look too serious."

"And my radio's not working. You couldn't hear me."

She paused as she wiped the blood carefully away from his eye. "We are all safe," she said softly. "Rodney and John and I. We've suffered no more than bruises."

"Good." And he took her wrist, gently pulling her hand away from his head. "What's wrong with the ship?" He was walking on towards the main bridge before she could answer.

She sighed, and followed him. "I do not know. Rodney is looking into it."

* * * * *

"Sheppard, that's _not_ helping! Quit _touching_ stuff!"

Every time Sheppard touched the console, the computer made a pathetic chirping sound, as if it were trying to answer him, but couldn't get past whatever virus it was that had crippled the ship.

It was like some sort of faithful pet, wounded and still trying to reach its master.

Rodney scowled at his own overwrought metaphor. Ship, he reminded himself. Machine. Wiring and code. Something he could _fix_. Not a dying pet.

"It helped last time," Sheppard retorted, touching the console again. Rodney squinted against the flare of blue light.

"Yes well, these systems are already initialized! You're not doing anything now but distracting me. Cut it out. And be quiet."

The tapping of Sheppard's fingers on the consul warned Rodney that his compliance wouldn't last long.

"So what's wrong with her?"

"The _ship_," he stressed, "is fine. A little scuffed and strained, after that jolt out of hyperspace, but hull integrity is sound, and life support is working. The _computers_ on the other hand . . ." He rested his head back on the decking beneath the console, where wires and Ancient crystals lay scattered around him.

"There's a virus," he said wearily, looking up into the gutted console. "It was lurking in the code, and now the computers have locked up the engines. And locked us out of the controls. This ship is dead in space, and we can't call Captain Weir for help."

"We're sitting ducks." Sheppard's voice was calm, but Rodney found it worrying, how very still he'd gone.

He grit his teeth, and reached for another crystal. "Not for long," he promised. "I'll fix it."

"You'd better do it fast," Sheppard said grimly. "The Wraith won't take long to find us, in this part of space."

"Ah, yes, the threat of certain death," Rodney growled. "I was wondering when you'd bring it up."

* * * * *

These stars were none she recognized, Teyla mused. They were not on any route the _Pegasus_ had traveled with Captain Weir.

Which made it that much more unlikely that they would be found by friends. She tightened her grip briefly on the butt of her gun. Took a deep, slow breath. Let go.

There was little to be done right now. The ship they were on was huge, and unfamiliar. She could not so much as monitor the proximity alarms, with the computers locked against them.

The decks were empty. The silence, unnerving, to one used to the constant background chatter of the _Pegasus_. The only noise, she knew, was here on the bridge.

She smiled, very slightly, to hear it -- Rodney slapping John's hand away from the controls was a reassuring ritual. Ronon's restless pacing, marred by the occasional stumble, less so.

She frowned. "I wish you would sit down," she told him. "Your head must hurt fiercely, doing that."

"I'm fine," he answered shortly. She did not like the tightness to his eyes.

"I should be doing something."

"You'll get your chance," Sheppard drawled, stopping him with a hand on his arm, "if McKay can't get this ship back into hyperspace soon."

"Ah yes," Rodney exclaimed, pulling himself out from under the consul. "Keep reminding me about the _certain doom_ approaching us. It helps _so_ much."

John smirked across at her. She raised an eyebrow. They were so like children.

* * * * *

John kept himself from joining Ronon in his pacing only with difficulty. McKay had finally managed to integrate his personal computer with the bridge controls -- which meant that there was even less need for him and his Ancient gene to hover over his friend's shoulder.

All he could do was sit here, and wait for the predatory bulk of a Wraith ship to block out the stars.

"I'm going to set up defenses," he announced abruptly. "Ronon, come with me."

"Yes, yes, fine. Try not to blow up the ship." McKay waved them on, not looking away from the code scrolling over his laptop's screen.

"Teyla," he called on his way out the door, "keep an eye on him."

Ronon loped at his side. The big man seemed hardly bothered by the dried blood matting his hair on the side of his head.

"We'll really need to get that looked at," John told him, "when we meet up with the rest of the fleet."

"Why?" Ronon shrugged. "It's just a scratch."

"Sure." Sure it was. Still, he thought, looking Ronon over critically, there didn't seem to be any immediate danger.

"The automatic defenses are down," John began, "and I don't want to leave any traps that would blow holes in my ship. But we can't let the Wraith just stroll through her, either."

"What do you have in mind?"

John smiled grimly. "We'll have to herd them to an ambush." He left unspoken the thought that if they sent more than the average scouting party, an ambush would be quickly overpowered. Ronon would know that. No need to hear it said out loud.

They ran. Down the corridors of the drifting ship to the docking bay. Their own shuttle sat small and lonely in the cavernous hold. John found his eyes straying back to it, as he and Ronon disabled every access hatch but one.

The little ship could easily keep the four of them safely undetected. For a time. It was tempting, just to take his team and hide, until the _Pegasus_ or another ship of the fleet came to rescue them.

But the shuttle had no hyperspace capabilities. Neither did it have any way to communicate with the fleet across the vast distances of space.

And the fleet, though he knew Captain Weir would undoubtedly send it to search for them, might never find them. They weren't anywhere near where they were supposed to be.

They could hide from the Wraith, but it would be a slow death. And torturous, for Ronon and Rodney, closed in the tiny ship for weeks. Watching them suffer in their claustrophobia would be torture, as well, for himself and Teyla.

No.

They'd make their stand, and hope.

"Rodney," John growled into his radio. "How's it going?"

Ronon didn't catch the scientist's response, being busy with another door along the corridor. They were disabling all the access points to the side corridors -- making a funnel, of sorts. A straight shot to the auxiliary bridge, where he'd been when the ship fell out of hyperspace.

Not exactly subtle. The Wraith would have to know it was intentional.

He just hoped the Wraith would be too intent on destroying them to spend time cutting through the doors. And too contemptuous of the threat they posed to hesitate to go after them.

If they ignored them, and rammed their way through to the main bridge, where Rodney was struggling to isolate and destroy the crippling virus . . .

He snarled fiercely at the access panel he'd just shot. Sparks were still falling from the blackened crystals, and the smell of ozone was sharp in the air. On the other side of the corridor, Sheppard groaned, and muttered something about his ship. Ronon ignored him, and moved on.

Teyla would protect him, he told himself. Long enough for him to get the ship moving again. Long enough for Sheppard and him to get back to their side.

She would.

Teyla watched the stars. Behind her, Rodney hunched over his computer, snarling unconsciously at the lines of code scrolling up the screen.

She didn't really think he even noticed she was there, so intent was he upon his task. She smiled fondly. His focus could be astonishing, to those not used to him.

An all too familiar silhouette abruptly blocked the unfamiliar stars. The spearhead shape of a Wraith cruiser bulked large in the view screen.

"Rodney," she breathed, "keep working." She moved to the door. His blue eyes had locked, wide and scared, on the enemy ship. But as she stepped past him, he swallowed, and his eyes narrowed with grim purpose.

She keyed her radio. "John. They are here."

There was a pause. She suspected he was cursing. "We're almost done. We'll lead them to the auxiliary bridge, keep them off your back."

"Don't do anything stupid!" Rodney barked into his radio. His fingers fairly flew on the keyboard -- on screen, whole sections of code opened and closed, discarded. Rodney never blinked, taking it all in at a glance.

"Give us a miracle, buddy, and we won't have to."

Teyla _listened_, over the strained voices of her friends. The Wraith were an uncomfortable presence in the back of her mind. It made her feel ill, unclean. But she could use it.

"There are five," she said, "perhaps six. The darts are in the docking bay now."

Behind her, Rodney growled something frightened and obscene, and kept working.

* * * * *

John and Ronon knelt behind the open door of the auxiliary bridge, guns trained down the corridor. It was such a simple plan, John thought. How could it possible go wrong?

"Don't shoot until they're all in range. Don't let them duck back around the corner."

Ronon grunted. He looked eager.

John pulled his life signs detector out of his pocket. There was Teyla and Rodney, all alone two decks up, on the far side of the ship.

If this didn't work, they'd have trouble getting back to them quickly.

He shook his head. One threat at a time.

The Wraith were six dots, blinking steadily as they moved closer to their position.

"They're trying the hatches," he said, seeing two of them break off from the pack and move down the sides of the corridor, pausing at each door.

"But it doesn't seem like they're too worried about it."

"Good," Ronon said shortly, and raised his gun slightly, as the first sound of boots on metal decking reached them.

* * * * *

Rodney left his radio open as he worked. He could hear the first snap-whistle of laser fire, and the splash of stunners that answered it.

He hunched his shoulders. They were fine, he told himself fiercely. So long as the sounds continued, they were fine. And they would stay that way, if he could get the _damned_ Ancient computers to _let him in!_

If the Wraith didn't send reinforcements. If they didn't decide to give up on the prize the Ancient ship represented, and just blow them into space debris.

Where _was_ it? Where, in the miles and miles of code, was the virus hiding? It had gone to ground, just as it had thousands of years ago, after forcing the Ancient crew to abandon ship. It had forced them out of hyperspace and locked them out of their own systems, and they'd had to give up. They hadn't been able to save their own ship.

But they'd been in the middle of a war. And surely they hadn't been alone. They must have transferred the crew to a sister ship, and gone on to whatever battle they were en route to. The ship itself hadn't been damaged. They must have meant to come back to her.

But they didn't. For whatever reason, Rodney thought, twitching, for he knew what sort of grim reason it must be, they hadn't come for their ship. She'd drifted in the cold expanse of space for thousands of years, alone.

Until Sheppard found her. Rodney remembered how his eyes had shone, seeing this ship. Remembered the glee that crossed his face when Captain Weir sent them on board, and the ship had lit up around him like it was welcoming him home.

This was Sheppard's ship. And they were his team. So Rodney had to save them.

"Simple as that," he muttered, and went on trying to give his Sheppard his miracle.

* * * * *

Ronon ducked back as a stunner blast splashed against the bulkhead next to him. The shooting was sporadic now, as the Wraith crouched behind the curve of the corridor wall, and Sheppard and he knelt in the darkened doorway.

Stand off.

"How long can we hold them here?" he asked Sheppard. How long, the thought came, until they turned and blasted through to the main bridge instead? How long until their ship sent another party down?

"Not long enough," Sheppard answered grimly. "They'll hit one of us eventually -- the shots keep getting closer."

And when one of them went down, the other would be quickly overwhelmed.

Ronon found himself smiling, a fierce baring of teeth. Sheppard's face was like stone, his dark eyes intent on the corridor.

They weren't down yet.

But the Wraith hadn't fired for a while. The quiet made him uneasy.

Sheppard glanced again at his life signs detector.

* * * * *

Teyla stiffened. The unclean pressure that was the Wraith, focused around the firefight at the auxiliary bridge, changed.

"Teyla!" she heard Sheppard yelling over the radio. "They're splitting off! Three of them are headed your way." She caught the sound of a laser torch hissing in the background, under the renewed onslaught of Ronon's blaster.

"I will hold them off," she vowed. "You should keep your mind on your own battle."

The door slid closed at her touch, and she locked it, then settled into position. It would not take them long to reach the bridge, if they were cutting straight through the decks.

"Rodney," she began, but he cut her off.

"I know. I heard. I've almost got it." He spit out the words in staccato bursts, timed to the frenetic rhythm of his typing.

Somehow, even with the rapid click of keys, and the tinny sounds of gunfire through the radio, a quiet seemed to have descended over her. Heavy and still, it settled like armor around her thoughts. She took a deep breath.

And then the door began to glow. A red glow that spread and lightened until it was white hot at the center, where the laser torch was focused.

Over the radio, Sheppard was shouting something, but she paid more attention to the failing door, and the Wraith that waited behind it. She raised her gun.

* * * * *

John pelted down the corridor. Ronon, with his long legs, was two steps ahead. Three dead Wraith were sprawled on the deck behind him.

They had charged, the Wraith, to cover the three that had turned back. And with them away from the curve of the bulkhead, he and Ronon had found clear shots.

His heart was beating too fast, even for a headlong race down the corridor. Teyla and Rodney . . . they weren't helpless. They'd be fine. They'd get there in time to help.

They'd be fine.

He stretched his legs, and ran faster.

* * * * *

Rodney could feel the heat of the door from his seat, but he didn't turn around. He almost had it -- here, it was here, in this bit of code, somewhere. He felt a snarl curling his lip, and glared at the screen, hunting.

Almost had it.

The hiss of the torch suddenly grew deafening. Sparks and molten metal spattered over the bridge. He heard Teyla's blaster start to fire. He hunched protectively over his computer, and frantically tried to keep from hyperventilating. Kept hunting.

"Rodney!" Teyla yelled at him, voice strained near to breaking. "They _will_ come through!"

There! There it was. "I found it!" he yelled back at her. "Keep them off of me!" Ruthlessly, he refused to allow himself to look at her. Now that he'd found it, he could not let the virus hide again in the Ancient code.

A second blaster joined Teyla's, and a third. Rodney barely registered it. All his focus was on his screen, and on the lines of code scrolling by at a lighting pace.

He isolated the virus. Hemmed it in. Pulled it away from the programs that controlled the shielding, the communications array. Kept it from slipping into life support. Yanked it out of weapons control.

Almost there.

The hulking Wraith cruiser, large in the view screen, was turning. Powering weapons. His heart stuttered, but he kept typing.

"Teyla, you all right?" he heard Ronon asking in the background. The sound of gunfire was gone.

Teyla's voice, calmer now. "It is only a scratch."

He kept typing. The engines were thrumming again, powering up. Hyperspace. He had to regain control, and quickly. The shields were in his hands, but he couldn't spare the time to put them up. The virus would slip free, kill the engines before they could escape.

A hand tightened on his shoulder, but Sheppard said nothing. He stared instead at the cruiser in the view screen.

The engines built to a scream, overpowered. They'd blow, if he couldn't get the ship into hyperspace _now_.

His fingers should be tangling themselves together, he thought wonderingly, in some quiet part of his mind. They moved so fast. His team stood at either side of him, waiting. Trusting him, to get them away from that cruiser.

Oh, but there! He had the virus trapped; it could _not_ escape this program.

Almost lazily, the Wraith cruiser opened its weapons' ports.

"Now!" he yelled. "Hold on!" And the Ancient ship jumped past the cruiser into hyperspace.

* * * * *

They stood on the bridge, watching the swirl and glow of hyperspace stream over the ship. No one moved.

John kept his hand on Rodney's shoulder, and noticed, vaguely, that Ronon had done the same on Rodney's other side. Teyla stood behind him, holding her arm. A serene smile contrasted with the blood running slowly past her elbow.

Rodney leaned back in his seat, eyes closed. His hands were still, unmoving.

John found himself smiling. His team. His ship. They'd made it.

_fin_


End file.
